


closer

by zoemonroe (theowlinsomniac)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon verse, F/F, ends right after 03x06, i tried to work in as many of Katie's HCs as possible, starts after 01x04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-23 02:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6102340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theowlinsomniac/pseuds/zoemonroe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monroe is waiting for her when they get to Camp Jaha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	closer

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to mariah
> 
> special thanks to zoë for being there with me as i struggled with grasping the idea of monroe's death and for listening to me talk about this fic
> 
> i hope you enjoy, and i'd love it if you could share this fic with katie and chelsey on twitter! (@KatieVanStuart & @ChelseyReist)

It gets quiet after a few days. The excitement is gone, a darker feeling beginning to fall over them. (Something is coming. Something big.)

Harper finds herself wandering more, eating less, not doing much of anything besides looking. Tents go up, and she stands alone in the clearing. A girl she's noticed once or twice before (who had piqued her interest with her stark red braids and her wolfish grin that gleamed in the firelight) ducks into a tent, and since Fox isn't around to stop her, she follows. She's never been too good at making friends, but she'll need to give it a try before nightfall. She doesn't want to sleep alone on the cold forest floor again.

She draws back the tent flap, peering inside. The girl with the braids is shoving blankets together and rearranging boxes. Her green eyes flick up to meet Harper's quiet, curious ones. She stiffens, but says nothing.

"I--" Harper says, hand clenching the tent flap tightly as she struggles to speak under the other's heavy glare, "I was wondering if you'd share the tent with me." 

The other's nostrils flare, her brows furrowing. She looks around, expression appalled. (As if she was reserving the tent for herself.) _Selfish_ , Harper thinks silently to herself as her blood begins to boil.

Someone slips behind her and into the tent, coming to stand beside the other.

"Sorry, 'already got two occupants. Unless you--"

"No," Harper says, her voice nearly a shout. The boy is taller than the both of them, his shaggy blonde hair falling in his light colored eyes. His arms are lanky, his body lean but poised with confidence. He stands close to the redhead. Her arms cross over her chest, eyes glancing from the boy to Harper. Harper's face goes pink, "no," she says quietly this time, "thanks... I'll find somewhere else."

She watches the two gaze at each other, then swallows down envy on her way out of the tent.

* * *

Harper lines up dutifully behind the redhead, (her name is Monroe, someone tells her a few days after the tent incident) and rubs the skin around her bracelet with worry. The scars on others' arms once the bracelet has come off scare her. She's not as tough as the other kids, and a little scared of blood. Monroe and her friend, Sterling, get their bracelets off at the same time. They laugh, like it's a game, and wince when the bracelets pop off their arms with a hiss. Sterling puts his hand on Monroe's back and they step out of the way. Monroe's gaze falls on Harper for a moment, and her excited expression turns to curiosity, and something that vaguely resembles worry. 

Harper steps closer, watching as one of Bellamy's sidekicks shoves a knife under her bracelet. She wants to squeeze her eyes shut, she wants to look away. _I'll be free,_ she tells herself, watching the boy struggle with her bracelet. It's already burning. Her eyes flick to where Monroe is standing. Their gazes meet. When the bracelet falls off her skin, she barely feels the sting. 

The spell is broken when she's shoved to the side and forced to look at the little red marks on her wrist. She grimaces, rubbing the tender skin with a rough hand. A voice calls her attention. 

She looks up. Monroe is standing in front of Bellamy, apart of the crowd that's gathering. He's making another speech, his gestures wide, his face lit up with excitement. A few of the others, that blonde high-class girl and her friends, look on with disgust and anger. Harper turns back to Bellamy, listening to his words. She watches his motions, feels her heart beating faster at the sight of his bulky arms, his chiseled jaw, the freckles on his cheeks. Her eyes are drawn back to the much smaller figure in front of him. She studies the braids, the tilt of her shoulders, the lean of her posture. Her throat tightens. 

She moves closer until she's almost right beside Monroe. The smaller one doesn't seem to notice, though. Harper gives Bellamy her undivided attention. 

Monroe looks at him like she'd do anything for him, with adoration and fear. Harper looks at him the same way, but for different reasons.

* * *

"Girls usually share tents with other girls."

The voice is strained and crescendo'd, as if the girl is only speaking louder so that the subject of her taunts can hear. Harper's eyes wander from the hunk of meat in her hands to the cluster of girls standing on the other side of the fire. She steals a glance, watching their collective glare directed at another. Harper licks her lips, watching as Monroe quietly continues eating her own portion of meat, her elbows on her knees and her brows furrowed in thought. Monroe remains very still, even if the other girls grow more restless. They seem almost uncomfortable that Monroe is sitting there. Harper feels her heart race. If Fox were here, she'd insist that they leave, but Harper wants to stay and watch, wants to see what Monroe will do. 

"It's just sick," one of the girls says, her voice not quite a whisper but not quite a shout. It's easy to hear her over the crackling of the fire, though, "it makes sense for a girl and a guy to stay together if they're... together. But that would mean she's with Sterling, and that's just sick." 

Monroe continues chewing, but Harper sees her jaw tighten, her bites becoming quicker, jerkier. 

"He's too hot for her. Little bitch. Even if they are just friends it's weird. It's wrong. Girls shouldn't be--" 

Monroe stands up. That's all it takes for them to go silent. Harper leans forward, her total attention on the event unfolding before her, her meal long forgotten. 

"I don't subscribe to your gender binary bullshit," Monroe deadpans, gaze flicking upwards at the girls who are starting to look pale, "and if you must know, I'm not exclusively a girl. I'm genderfluid. I bet your ignorant asses don't even know what that means," she doesn't even look at them. She eats the last of her meat and rolls her neck. The girls are still silent. "It's also none of your fucking business what gender I am or who I share a tent with." 

One of the girls, Harper doesn't know her name, steps forward. "You're a freak," she says, "you--" 

Monroe makes a face that fills Harper's veins with ice, "I can do whatever the hell I want," she hisses, "and I suggest you leave me the _fuck_ alone."

Monroe turns her head, looking right into Harper's eyes. The blonde's heart is roaring in her chest. Monroe gives a half nod, shoves her hands in her pockets, and turns to leave. 

Harper's face goes hot, and when she turns back to look at the other girls, there's a smug expression on her face (she's proud of the other, even if they aren't close). The girls scatter soon after, and Harper feels a hand on her back. 

"What was that?" Harper turns her head, watching as Roma slips onto the log next to her and grabs her meat from her hands, taking a bite and handing it back. 

"I--" Harper turns to look in the direction where Monroe was headed. The redhead is gone, though, and she wishes she wasn't, "I don't know..." 

* * *

Her back is pressed to the side of his tent. Her hand rests on the opposite elbow, her chin to her chest, eyes filling with tears. 

It was hard enough to get other people to like her on the Ark. She'd thought it would be easier here, that she would be seen differently. The conversation rings in her ears. 

"... _there for the taking_..."

"... _low hanging fruit_..."

Her breaths are shaky, her hands suddenly very cold. The sun is going down, slowly, but she knows if she looks up she'll catch the last glimpse of the crimson glow. It's her favorite part of the day, but she can't even force herself to turn her head, shift her eyes.

"He's a dick," Harper feels her chest tighten when she hears the voice. Despite how heavy her head feels on her neck she turns it, looking at the source of the words. Her brows raise in surprise. "And besides," Monroe says, her hands tucked in her pockets and her face neutral, "that's disgusting. You should be able to do what you want and be who you want without criticism." 

Harper nods unknowingly, wiping her nose with a sniffle. "Thanks," she breathes, forcing a smile. Monroe looks at her with a curious stare. Her tongue runs over her bottom lip and the motion makes Harper's mouth go dry. 

"That was brave of you," Monroe continues softly, stepping closer. Her bright green eyes travel down to the ground, the toe of her boot pushing up a mound of dirt, "I would never have been able to ask someone out like that." she looks up with a sincere grin (something Harper hasn't seen on her face yet), "You have a lot of courage." 

Harper nods, feeling herself giggle as tears roll from her eyes. "Thanks, that's... sweet." She look up and Monroe is looking at her strangely. She suddenly feels exposed, vulnerable. Monroe is studying her just like Harper studies everyone else. It's intimidating, it's fascinating.

Harper nods, crossing her arms and glancing towards the clearing, unsure of how to continue the conversation but unwilling to step away. 

"We have to have each other's backs," Monroe says, stepping past her with a smile, "see ya 'round." 

Harper steps forward, stopping herself from following the other. "Yeah," she says, barely able to hear herself, "see ya..." 

When Monroe is out of sight, Harper spins, her face in her hands with the broadest of smiles on her face. She nearly trips, suddenly thrown back into reality after her small celebration. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, rubbing her eyes and finding her way towards her tent with an odd sense of longing heavy in her stomach. 

* * *

Monroe talks to her. When Sterling is with Atom or Bellamy, Monroe drifts towards Harper, helping her out with some of the chore-type duties around camp. Sometimes Harper thinks she's invisible to the other, following her around and sitting by her when they eat, standing next to her when Bellamy has something to say. Monroe never gives her a second glance, it seems, but sometimes she does. 

Sometimes Monroe puts her hand on Harper's hip to steady her when she trips. Sometimes Monroe smiles at her as they work, asking her about Fox and Roma's snoring or tells a story about Sterling's shenanigans back on the Ark. Harper is getting worse and worse at being able to hide her blush when Monroe looks at her with those bright, curious eyes. She wishes the tension (tension she's sure Monroe doesn't even notice) would just snap and something would happen. But nothing ever happens. She lingers on the moments when the backs of their hands brush or when Monroe tugs on a strand of her hair to get her attention. She lays in her cot late at night with one hand on her lips (that she wishes Monroe would just kiss) and the other buried in her blankets in fear they'll wander somewhere else. 

And sometimes Monroe surprises her in the strangest and purest of ways. 

Harper feels the hot glare of the other girls on the back of her neck. Things have been heavy on the delinquents shoulders. (They're not alone out here, and their efforts to keep the peace seem to be failing. Something will happen soon, she expects, no matter how much she wants to keep things the way they are, no matter how chaotic it may seem to an outside eye.)

Harper closes her eyes and inhales, stepping towards the nearest clearing to get away from the group. Then she hears it. 

" _Slut_!" 

She freezes, her skin crawling and her eyes watering. 

"I heard she fucked a guard," a shrill voice calls. A chorus of ill-mannered giggles ring out. 

"I heard she fucked _all_ the guards!" another says. A bead of sweat forms on her brow as her hands tremble. She can't seem to move from this spot, and their voices are growing louder. 

Then there's fingers in her hair and faces all around her, cackling, taunting. "What was it like, Harper? Or should I call you Harlot?" 

"How much did they pay you?" another asks, getting in her face, close enough to huff hot breath on her cheeks. Harper flinches, and it only makes them laugh more. 

"How much does a night with Harper the Whore cost? How much--" 

" _Hey_!" 

The girls turn towards the new voice. Harper stands, shaking like a leaf in the wind. She can't force herself to look up, but she knows who it is. (And if her younger form had been watching, she would have called Monroe her "knight in shining armor.")

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Harper's eyes are closed, but she's aware of what's going on. 

There's some shuffling, some yelps, a shriek. Harper opens her eyes, only to see Monroe has the leader of the group pinned on the ground, her fists coming down in quick, even punches to the girl's face and jaw. The rest of the girls are screaming at her from above, telling her to stop. Some of them have scuff marks themselves, but look unwilling to break up the fight. 

She takes a step back, but leans right into someone else's chest. She jerks around, seeing that a small crowd has formed around them. Her heart is in her throat and the rest of her is numb, but she somehow steps forward and digs her fingers into Monroe's jacket and pulls gently. Monroe turns her head, eyes wide and jaw tensed. Before Harper can even open her mouth to speak Sterling has ducked in and wrapped his arms around Monroe's middle, pulling her off of the girl, her arms still flailing and a string of profanities pouring out of her mouth. 

Someone leans down to pick the girl up off the ground, and Sterling lets Monroe's feet hit the ground even though his hands still remain on her arms, holding her back. The other girl still manages to sneer through her crooked bloody nose and busted lip, to which Monroe spits right at her feet. The girl jumps back as Monroe gets jerked away, a wolfish smirk on her face.

* * *

There's a skip in her step any time she sees Monroe. There's a smile on her face whenever she hears that voice, calling her name or barking out an order. Her whole body goes into shock when Monroe's shoulder bumps against hers, when her eyes look her up and down, size her up, and choose to gleam instead of glare. 

When they stand around the fire at night, Harper hears some of the others talking. 

"Triple homicide."

"Nah, I heard just two. A guard and a doctor. She wen't wild after they drugged her up--"

"I dunno man, I'm just not gonna mess with her." 

Monroe nudges her shoulder and they laugh. Sterling puts his arm around her shoulder and pulls her close, whispering that Monroe is a "softie" even if she _did_ kill three guards. Harper just giggles and pretends not to enjoy their companionship as much as she does. 

* * *

 When she wakes up in Mount Weather, she wishes she'd embraced them more, hugged them harder when she could. She wishes she'd just told Monroe about the heavy feeling in her chest when they looked into each other's eyes, wishes she'd just have touched her beautiful red hair and confessed her own wrongdoing that put her on the Ground to begin with. 

(They'd hardly spoken a word the day the Grounders attacked. Harper's hands found the hard steel of a trigger and she didn't stop shooting until someone had pulled her inside the dropship. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and when she heard the explosion she fell on her back. Someone took the gun from her, and when she was strong enough to stand she stumbled outside. The heels of her boots touched scorched earth and broken corpses. There was so much destruction she didn't bother, didn't think to look around to find any light. Her friends were at the back of her mind when she looked into the hollow skulls of the Grounders she'd helped slaughter. The one she thought she loved was no where in her thoughts when she heard the hissing of the gas, saw the red smoke, felt her body lurch when the smell invaded her senses. Only when she opened her eyes with her skin touching those soft, cotton sheets did she remember. And then the tears came.) 

They were dead, she was certain. 

(And then she was certain that _she_ was dead. She thinks it's the right thing to do to help those people, to give the only part of her she knows is pure, is good. And her wrists and elbows ache from the needles and her tongue goes dry and her body trembles in fear and dehydration. She feels alive when her eyes are open, feels dead when she sees those bodies behind her eyelids. In a way, she does die. A drill buried in her hip, a scream escaping her throat, burning her lungs until she passes out from the pain. Her back to the metal chain links, her legs nearly useless from their crooked position underneath her tired body. She closes her eyes and listens to the screams. A new lullaby. A new prayer. A new dream. 

But she was not dead.)

Monty's fingers brush hers through the walls of the cage. He's warm. He reminds her of another time. 

The locks open, she falls into someone's arms. 

On unsteady feet she stumbles out into the open, feels the fresh air against her cheeks and her neck. Even though her hands shake she walks confidently into the night, side by side with the people who'd fought to save her life. She tries not to think about the people they lost trying to get here, tries not to imagine that love she had in her heart for her captors before they became villains. 

* * *

Monroe is waiting for her when they get to Camp Jaha. 

After miles of walking with her hand on someone else's shoulder, she takes the steps into Monroe's arms alone. The smaller's strong arms wrap around her tightly, her nose buried in the crook between her neck and her shoulder. Harper buries her face in Monroe's shoulder, letting her body shake with sobs against the other's smaller frame. Monroe runs her fingers through her hair, rocking her side to side.  

(A feeling of relief washes over her, a feeling of homecoming, of love and comfort.)

Harper pulls away, her hands on Monroe's shoulder to hold her steady. Her hip burns like fire, her body trembles from weakness, from fatigue. There's an unspoken conversation between them, one not too different from their first. Monroe lets Harper slip her arm around her neck, and they slowly make their way, side by side, to a tent at the far corner of camp. Monroe pulls back the flap and lets Harper settle on the cot. The blonde hisses in pain as she lays on her uninjured side, her eyes narrowed as she tries to get comfortable. Monroe settles herself next to the cot, her eyes full of worry and hesitance. 

Harper settles after a moment, her arm tucked under her head, her free hand resting at the edge of the bed.

"Sterling?" Harper asks quietly. Monroe's eyes flutter closed. She shakes her head slowly. 

"Oh," Harper whispers, a shiver running down her spine at the thought of Monroe standing alone, without her friend beside her. The redhead lifts a hand slowly, threading her fingers in between Harper's and cocking her head to the side. Harper squeezes her hand, her bottom lip worrying between her teeth, the only thing holding her back from letting out a cry. "I thought--" she starts, but her throat goes tight and she can't seem to form any words. 

"I know," Monroe rasps, lifting her other hand and placing it on Harper's head, her thumb brushing her hair from her eyes, "I'm right here... I'm alive... and so are you." 

When Monroe slips into the bed behind her, wrapping her arm around her waist and pressing soft words into her spine. She regrets when she wished she wasn't still breathing, because if she'd gotten what she wanted she wouldn't be here now. 

* * *

Monroe holds her up when she can't walk by herself. Monroe sits next to her at meals. Monroe updates her on the progress of camp when she can't get out of bed. Monroe forces her to work out her leg, holds her hand when they go on walks, glares at anyone who looks at her as if she's weak. They start sitting closer and closer together, they never sleep alone. Personal space becomes a foreign concept between them. Wherever Harper is, Monroe is, and vice versa. 

Harper's there to watch Monroe stumble out of bed in the morning in her nearly-shredded t-shit and underwear, combing her thick curls back and pulling the strands into tight braids. Monroe's there to watch Harper wash her face and brush her blonde locks, struggle to tug her pants up and around her waist, and tighten a belt around her hips like it's a medal of honor. Harper's there when the sun goes down, waiting for Monroe to stumble into the tent, waiting to undo the other's braids, comb her fingers through her hair, wipe the dirt off her face, laugh at the stories of her day patrolling, and mumble a sleepy "good night" when Monroe's familiar arm falls around her and she can feel the other's chest against her back. 

Monroe's there to calm her down when she wakes from nightmares, unable to breathe. She gives her space, because most of her dreams consist of boxes and cages and needles that coax the very breath out of her lungs. Sometimes she can hear the buzzing of the drill, the voices of the doctors above her. Monroe's surprisingly soft whispers and warm, calloused hands on her hands and back always bring her down from the high, always welcome her back to sleep. 

Monroe doesn't have nightmares like Harper does. She doesn't scream from terror in the middle of the night, doesn't kick the covers off of them, doesn't writhe around, yelping for someone to save her. She wakes with a startle right on time for patrol, the bags under her eyes dark like bruises and her fingers trembling. Harper offers kind words on these mornings, holds onto Monroe's hands just a little bit longer. She tells her that they're both safe now, even when Bellamy is drifting and the surviving children are too scared to go outside. She tells her they'll be okay even with the threat of Grounders right outside their walls. She tells her she loves her, and though the words carry a sort of comforting innocence they both know the weight behind them. 

* * *

It's a month since Mount Weather, since Clarke disappeared, since they began sleeping in the same bed. It seems like a life time since Harper stepped into Monroe and Sterling's tent, asking naive questions and feeling a hot blush on her cheeks from the way the green-eyed warrior looked at her.

Her head rests on Monroe's shoulder. They sit alone by the fire. Monroe is off-duty, and her jacket rests on Harper's shoulders. Abby cleared Harper to start working again after regaining almost complete mobility in her leg. She'd worked hard, they both had, and it had paid off.  

"Harp," Monroe breathes, pulling Harper's hand into her lap. Harper shifts her cheek on the other's shoulder, fighting to keep her eyes open. She feels the tickle of Monroe's fingers on her palm, the light scratch of the other's short fingernails on her skin. She shivers. 

Harper hums in response, inhaling sharply as she pulls her head away and turns. Monroe is already looking at her, at her lips, rather. Harper feels her heart ache. She doesn't realize how close they are until Monroe's nose is brushing hers, until she feels the heat of Monroe's thigh against her own. Monroe licks her lips, and Harper feels herself going dizzy. 

"Yeah," she says, her voice airy, almost inaudible. They'd been sleeping together for a long time, had been friends for even longer. They shared a bond that no one else understood, shared a history no one cared to learn. This moment had been a long time coming.

Monroe's hand drifts to Harper's cheek. It feels hesitant and cold, but new and exciting. Harper's gaze flicks from Monroe's eyes (and her pupils that were blown wide) and her lips. Harper gives a small nod after a beat, and closes her eyes as Monroe's lips crash onto hers for the first time. 

She leans into the kiss, trying hard not to cry as Monroe kisses her back with the same fervor. Tears start to roll down her cheeks and she feels like she's drowning. She's drowning but she doesn't want to come up for air. She's drowning in a feeling she's never felt before and she never wants to breathe any other air again. 

* * *

Monroe's fingers run gently up and down her arm as they lay together. Harpers lay on her side, one arm propping up her head and the other across Monroe's chest, fingers playing with the ends of her hair. Monroe lays on her back, eyes on the ceiling of the new room they share, body only half covered by the sheets. 

"We've had sex and I don't even know your first name." Harper says with a giggle, eyes watching as Monroe's neutral expression turns into one of amusement and embarrassment. She continues to stare at the ceiling. 

"I told you." Monroe says, her lips upturned in a subtle smile. 

"When?" Harper says, drawing circles on Monroe's freckly shoulder, eyes cast over the other's chest that rises and falls steadily. 

"When you came back from the Mountain," she breathes, her expression darkening, "when you slept I told you stories. About the Ark." Harper frowns, her hand stopping. 

There's silence between them. Monroe closes her eyes and grasps onto Harper's arm tightly. 

"Zoe." she whispers. Harper's heartbeat quickens. 

"Zoe Monroe," Harper echoes, sitting up and slowly throwing her leg over Monroe's side. She straddles her hips with her thighs, her hands on either side of Monroe's head, "Zoe." she whispers, kissing Monroe's forehead, working her way down to her nose and her jaw. 

"I don't like it when people call me that," she laughs, her voice growing hoarse as Harper's kisses travel lower. 

"I'm not _people_ ," Harper insists, hands intertwining with Monroe's on the bed. 

"No," Monroe says, arching her back into Harper's kiss, "you can call me anything you want," she says with a laugh.

"Zoe," she breathes again, liking the way it sits on her tongue. She leans up to whisper it in Monroe's ear, making her shudder, "Zoe," she says, kissing Monroe on the cheek, "I love you, I love you, _I love you_." 

* * *

They don't tell many people, but they all seem to know. Raven asks Harper how Monroe is doing even when she isn't apart of the conversation. Bellamy teases Monroe about finally getting a girlfriend. Monroe just punches his shoulder and tells him how glad she is that she has a friend who supports her. 

Another month goes by, and Harper finally begins to take the classes Lincoln and Bellamy offer. At first, she attends Gina's self defense class, Monroe watching from the back of the room, a book in her hand and her cap (a gift Harper had gotten her for their anniversary, since time was important to them now that they understood how lucky they were to have it) on backwards. After a week she easily pins Gina and all the other girls in the class, even with her crooked step and her hesitance to use her full strength. 

Then she joins Monroe in the "big leagues" a few weeks later, after officially getting her guard uniform and being on equal grounds with the others. She watches Bellamy with an admiring eye, feeling Monroe's jealous eyes on the side of her face. She smiles at the older man, tossing him the jacket when asked, then elbows Monroe in the ribs with a laugh. Monroe rolls her eyes, arms still tight behind her back. They're soon asked to pick partners, and Harper doesn't even have to look over her shoulder to know who her partner will be. Monroe shuffles in behind her on their designated mat and frowns when Harper begins to stretch her leg. 

"We don't have to--" 

"Don't go easy on me just because you _like_ me," Harper jokes, putting her hands up in a defensive stance, "do your worst." 

Monroe's lips curl up every so slightly in a smirk, and she snaps. Harper lands on her back after a few good minutes of struggling, and looks up to find Monroe panting harder than she thought she'd be. She starts to laugh, realizing she'd actually put up a good fight against her lover. Monroe frowns, but helps her up, squeezing her eyes shut when Harper kisses her cheek. 

"Don't be so hurt that I was actually a good opponent." Harper whispers into her ear, stepping back to start again. 

"Well next time I won't go so easy on you." She leans forward, rolling her neck with a smirk. 

"We'll have to see about that." Harper challenges, letting out a laugh when Monroe tackles her again. 

* * *

She wonders if Monroe worries like this when she's outside the walls. Monroe paces the hall outside their room, guard uniform on and jaw tensed. Harper lays in bed, watching the other's frown and furrowed brows, listening as she mutters something about "having his back" to herself. Harper's stomach churns. 

"He's going to be okay," Harper calls out to her. Monroe just shakes her head, pursing her lips. 

"I just don't know why they didn't--" 

"Monroe." Harper says. Monroe stops, turning her body to face the blonde. "They'll be fine. They'll be back soon." 

"I know," Monroe replies, continuing in her cyclical path, "It's just... Pike and his crew. They're different than us, they don't understand, they--" 

" _Zoe_." Harper barks. Monroe stops and closes her eyes. "You can't let it consume you. It will all work out. Bellamy knows you're loyal to him, and I know you're a good soldier, and even if things are changing we'll still have each other." 

Monroe stands very still for a few moments. She's alone in her thoughts. 

"You're a warrior, Monroe." Harper says with a smile, watching as Monroe slowly turns and makes her way back to the bunk, "I know you'll do what's right." 

The other collapses onto the bed. Harper pulls her hat off her head and tosses it on the floor, running her hands over the other's braids. There are already soft snores escaping Monroe's mouth. She smiles down at the other, "I trust your choices," she says, half to herself. It seems like nowadays she has to convince herself of everything, even in trusting the one she loves the most. 

* * *

Monroe holds her hand at the funeral. She didn't know Gina long, but the pain is familiar, it's real. 

And then there's shouting, and Monroe is back to back with Bellamy, an arm stretched out defensively over Harper too. She watches Lincoln stumble out of the room, a gash on his head and a new wound in his heart. She wants to comfort him, someone who she'd gotten to know as her friend, but she's afraid that if she takes another step she will too become a victim. 

Then it's nightfall and she hasn't spoken to Monroe all day. There's something going on in the clearing right in front of the entrance. Her eyes flash with fear when she see Lincoln and Bellamy, whens he watches Monroe follow behind Bellamy when she knows it's wrong. Monroe looks at her with heavy eyes, and even though she falls behind Pike, in the end she chooses the right side. 

Even though Monroe is on the wrong one. 

She gets sick later that night because she sleeps in an empty bed. Because she realizes what this means for all of them. 

* * *

"You can't go," Harper's grasp is firm on Monroe's arm. The smaller girl looks at her hand like it's burning through her uniform, like it's searing her skin. 

"You're picking the wrong fight Harper," Monroe says, jerking her arm out of Harper's grasp. They stand face to face, eyes wary of each other. 

"You're just repeating what Bellamy said, what _Pike_ said," Harper pleads, crossing her arms in a defensive stance. It doesn't occur to her that this is the first time outside of training she's had to physically close herself off from the other, "Why don't you think for yourself? Lincoln and the other Grounders, they can--" 

"They've been against us since the beginning," Monroe growls, narrowing her eyes, "they killed more than half of us. They were responsible for even more loss at Mount Weather. And you want to trust them? Why don't _you_ think for yourself? Have they brainwashed you? It's us," she huffs, "against them." 

The blood drains from Harper's face. She steps back. "We're all people," she breathes, "just trying to survive." 

Monroe's shoulders slant, her expression hardening. "I am thinking for myself," Monroe echoes, as if to confirm to herself the truth behind her words, "and I think that this isn't working anymore." 

Harper's heart sinks to the floor. "What?" she answers breathlessly. She feels like someone knocked the wind out of her, but this is worse than any physical pain she could ever endure. 

"I don't think we're going to work." Monroe repeats, taking a step back. Her hand moves to her belt. Harper's skin crawls and her eyes start to water. There's a heavy silence between them. Monroe turns away. 

"Zoe," Harper calls out, stepping forward and reaching for Monroe's hand in a last attempt to pull her back, to pull her home. They'd been treading on stormy waters for too long, and she yearned to be on steady ground again, yearned to feel tethered to something as real as she and Monroe were. 

"You don't get to call me that." Monroe barks, stepping just out of reach, head shaking slowly. In her eyes there's betrayal. Harper wonders what Monroe sees in her own eyes, "not anymore." 

Harper recedes, her arms wrapping tightly around her chest. Even though she wears this guard uniform like a shield, she can't help but to feel exposed under Monroe's gaze. "Do you love him more than me?" she whispers, just as Monroe begins to walk away. Monroe stops, her back to Harper. She stands stiffly for a moment. They both hold their breath. 

"No, Harper," Monroe says, refusing to look back. Her voice is weak now, hurt, "I'm doing this for you," she pauses, head hanging low, "for all of us." 

Harper just shakes her head, eyes on the ground as the sound of Monroe's footsteps grow softer and softer. 

* * *

She's the first to step into the clearing when the truck pulls in through the gate. She crosses her arms, leaning against one of the columns of steel holding up a section of sheds and workplaces. Her eyes watch carefully as the truck rolls in slowly and stops a few hundred yards inside the gate. The air is too quiet, too still. Her chest tightens. Something is wrong. 

People start to jump out of the back. She counts heads, anticipating the sight of a smaller figure, maybe a little bloody and bruised, hopping out of the truck and helping the wounded. There are no wounded. No one is hurt. A few of them give off a few hacking coughs, and others wobble on their feet. Harper pushes off the column and steps closer, her heart rate skyrocketing when neither Bellamy nor Monroe jump out of the truck. 

And then he's stepping slowly out of the back, a body in his arms. The edges of Harper's vision go black. She stops breathing. Bellamy carries the smaller person carefully, as if she'll break if he moved his arms, if he dared to stand her on her own feet. He turns, and she sees the three braids falling over his arm like a waterfall. 

She breaks into a sprint. Her hands find the body's cheeks, her eyes find a broken, terrified face. Her beautiful eyes are closed. 

"Harper," Bellamy's unsteady voice begins. She grasps onto his arm for support, her other hand gently stroking Monroe's brow, her cheek. Her knees give out from under her, and they all sink to the ground. Somehow Monroe's body finds its way into Harper's arms. She cradles her, holds her close. 

Death is not like sleep, not on Monroe. She doesn't look at peace, she doesn't look like she's resting. She looks like she fought for her life and lost. She looks like she struggled to breathe, like the pain was too much to bear. Harper's ribs crack, her heart breaks, and her lungs burn as she screams. She wants to feel how Monroe felt, wants to take away the pain she must have felt in her final moments.

(In all her life she's never felt a pain so loud, so demanding as this.)

Tears stream down her face, her mouth open, tongue constructing words that can't seem to come out of her mouth. She wails, rocking back and forth, clutching her lover tightly. 

"Harper, I'm sorry--" 

"This was your fault!" she screams, her gaze like a bolt of lightening. Bellamy steps back, eyes wide in fear, in horror. "If you hadn't gone out there," she sobs, looking back down to Monroe, "-- she would have followed you anywhere!" she cries, closing her eyes ad burying her face in Monroe's cold, cold neck. She smells like acid, like ash, like death. "She died for you-- she died doing what she thought was right," she sobs into Monroe's chest, fingers digging into Monroe's uniform, pulling her closer still, "she thought you were right-- she just wanted to, wanted to--" 

A heavy hand lays on her back, and Bellamy moves away. 

Monty stands over her, guarding her from curious, sympathetic eyes. (He brushes his mother's hand away, glares at anyone who dares approach them. It's his burden too, Harper thinks much later, because he couldn't save her.) 

"You didn't help her," Harper whimpers, slowly releasing her hold on Monroe's stiffening body, "you should have... you..." 

Miller comes behind her, wrapping his hands around her shoulders and pulling her away. Monroe's body slips onto the ground, limp and pale. Harper shuts her eyes and lets him carry her away, let's him take her. Somewhere between her feet dragging against the ground and the back of her head heavy against Miller's sharp shoulder, she blacks out. 

Somewhere between Monty's snores from beside her bed and the morning light, she dreams. 

* * *

She draws back the tent flap, peering inside. The one with the braids is shoving blankets together and rearranging boxes. Her green eyes flick up to meet Harper's quiet, curious ones. She stiffens, but says nothing.

"I--" Harper says, hand clenching the tent flap tightly as she struggles to speak under the other's heavy glare, "I was wondering if you'd share the tent with me."

The stranger shifts her weight, eying her up and down. She doesn't nod, but she doesn't push her away.

"I'm Monroe." 

Harper blushes and replies, "Harper." 

Monroe smiles softly, "Glad to meet you," she says, and turns back to the makeshift bed. 

Harper wishes she could conjure the words to explain how glad she is to have met her too.  


End file.
